


the dead and gone

by celestialfics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Epistolary, Letters, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics
Summary: Steve,I’ve been thinking about how this will end.Us — We’re both essentially unaging. I’m not sure how long we’ll live, but given time, we’ll find each other again, and I don’t doubt that. I don’t know why I’m putting it off anymore.- B





	the dead and gone

**Author's Note:**

> i've always been really fond of epistolary fics, and i wanted to try one of my own, so this fic is composed solely of letters!
> 
> this fic is also somewhat of a love letter for post-winter soldier bucky from me. for two years of his life, bucky was stuck in an in-between, and i wanted to delve into what he might have been feeling and discovering. 
> 
> i hope you'll enjoy x

May 26, 2014

Steve,

I read about you in a museum. I read about me — or someone who was me, sometime. I can’t remember much of it. You and that person that was me seemed pretty happy in the footage when we weren’t fighting the war. Though I can’t imagine we weren’t fighting often. Wars take tolls. I’ve fought in enough of them by now.

I do remember falling. I read about that, about how James Buchanan Barnes died. I remember how cold the wind was against my face, and I remember how intense the fear I felt was. I remember a hand — yours? — reaching, reaching…

I wanted to say something to you, then. When I fell. I can’t remember what it was, but I couldn’t say it because I was already screaming.  ~~I was so scared but~~

Then my memory’s all very jumbled. Lots of things you probably don’t want to hear. Lots of things I don’t want you to hear.

Honestly, though, I’m not writing this for you. It’s not like I’ll ever send it. But I did jump into the water to pull you back out, and I need to understand why. It’s also good to keep my hands  ~~and my mind~~  occupied.

I wonder about a lot of things. It’s strange to have time to think. It’s strange to have control. I’m not used to it.

And with it, I’m writing to you. Because I wonder so much about you.

You knew more than myself that I wouldn’t kill you. How could you know that? How could you put that kind of trust in me?

I know that I know you. Now I know how, because of the museum. But still —

It doesn’t feel right.

     - B

 

June 30, 2014

Steve,

I hope you aren’t looking for me.

I say this because I know I’m not who you think I am. I’ve been thinking about it. Who I was when I fell off that train and who I am now, they aren’t the same. You were willing to die for the one who fell off the train.

Maybe part of him is still in here somewhere, and that’s why I hesitated. Or maybe I just hesitated because I’m not used to being trusted like that. You said — “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line” and I’ll never forget that. I don’t know where it came from, or why I recognized it, but I did. It was like you linked something in my head, but… Even now I’m not sure what that something was.

God knows how far gone I am now, though. I don’t think you’ll ever be able to get the guy you want out of me.  ~~It hurts to know that I can’t be who you want me to be~~

I don’t want you to be disappointed. Hope and longing are better than disappointment. That’s why I hope you aren’t looking, even though I’m almost certain you are.

That’s why I’m hiding from you. I hope you understand.

      - B

 

September 15, 2014

Steve,

I saw someone wearing a shirt with your symbol on it today. It’s not a rare thing to see in America, but I’m not in America right now. Anyway, it made me start thinking of you again.

Even though you’ll never see this, I want to apologize to you. There’s a lot of people I want to apologize to  ~~but they’re all dead~~.

I’m sorry for a lot of things. For fighting you and your friends, for almost killing some of you. For killing innocent people. I know I was being controlled. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

I’m mostly sorry for being me. For being Bucky. If I were someone else, you could have taken care of me before more bad shit happened. It feels like I betrayed you, somehow, by having this face. So I’m sorry for that.  ~~If it makes you feel any better~~

With the little that I know about you, I know you’d say it wasn’t my choice.

That’s true. Even as I am now, I wouldn’t choose to do to anyone what happened to you. Your best friend coming back from the dead only to try and kill you — it’s horrific.

I didn’t choose this, but still. I’m sorry.

      - B

 

December 25, 2014

Steve,

It’s Christmas and I’m alone and I feel like I should be more sad about it, but I feel mostly impartial. It’s probably because I don’t have any memories of it. Christmas is mostly exciting because of the nostalgia once you get older, isn’t it?

And it’s also about religion, of course. I have a complicated relationship with all that, considering everything.  ~~I don’t~~

I thought of you, anyway. I’m sure we used to celebrate together back in the day.

It felt too weird to do nothing special with all the people celebrating around me, so I bought a bottle of champagne. And some food to actually cook a meal with.

When I got back to the apartment, someone had left a tin of cookies outside my door. They were by everyone’s doors.  ~~I thought it was a bomb at first~~  Holiday spirit really is something. It’s hard to still believe people can be so kind.

Well, I made myself dinner and drank some champagne and I even ate one of the cookies. Maybe you’re celebrating Christmas with your friends?

Hope you’re having a good one.

      - B

 

February 21, 2015

Steve,

Every once in awhile, I go out and sit on the roof of this apartment complex. It’s snowy right now, but that doesn’t bother me. I brought a pen and paper with me this time.

It’s nice, because no one can see me up here. Not a lot of people are out at this time, anyway. Lights slowly flicker off the longer I stay.

I can’t see the stars very well. It’s pretty cloudy tonight on top of the city’s smog.   ~~Can you see them?~~   That puts me in some sort of mood, though.

I’ve been thinking about how this will end.

Us — We’re both essentially unaging. I’m not sure how long we’ll live, but given time, we’ll find each other again, and I don’t doubt that. I don’t know why I’m putting it off anymore.

Even then, though. What happens? Do we fight? Do we come to some mutual understanding that I’m not what you want? But then we would go on with our unaging lives, bound to meet again.

Sometimes I wonder if you could be content with how I am now. Then I scold myself for thinking something so hopeful.

How this will really, truly end — I imagine someone will have to kill me.

I’m not sure if it’ll be you, or if it’ll be me.

      - B

 

March 9, 2015

Steve,

My birthday is tomorrow. I have no clue what my age is, technically or biologically. I could do some math to figure it out but I don’t care that much.

~~I shouldn’t have been~~

Your birthday is the fourth of July, and I think that’s a weird ass coincidence. Did you make it up? I feel like I should know if it’s your real birthday or not.

Did we used to go watch the fireworks and pretend they were for you? Sounds like a cute little kid thing to do. Maybe we did that.

I imagine what we used to do sometimes. Some of it feels familiar, like I’m onto something.

Like, for my birthday one year, I imagined you and your ma singing to me in front of this makeshift cake you guys had made for me. I was turning thirteen or fourteen.

For another year, I imagined you and me pitching back vodka we’d just bought with my extra pay from working down at the docks and getting drunk off our asses. We danced in our living room all crazy like there was no one else in the world even though there wasn’t any music playing.

It’s just too specific to be just made up, I think. It could be nothing though.

I think I’ll celebrate this year with a cupcake. There’s a nice bakery down the street.

After that, I’ll be out of this city. I’ve been here too long.

      - B

 

June 24, 2015

Steve,

I saw the whole thing about Sokovia on the news.

I found that I was worried about you. Do you know the last time I worried for someone? Me neither.

It’s hard to tell for me if this is a real connection that I feel, or if it’s just because I spend so much time thinking about you and how we are supposed to be. Do I really care or have I tricked myself into caring? I can’t be sure. Does it really matter?

I’m glad you’re safe, anyway. And good job.

      - B

 

August 18, 2015

Steve,

I’m tempted to turn myself in sometimes. Just to see you.

I know they would arrest me. I know I’d be in a prison or mental ward or something for the rest of my unnatural life.  ~~I’m sure you’d~~

I think I put a piece together that was missing this whole time.

I don’t know.

 ~~Did~~ ~~we~~     ~~Were we~~

~~I miss~~

I don’t know.

      - B

 

October 27, 2015

Steve,

Sometimes I have a dream about you sleeping next to me. I’m not certain that it’s you, because this person is a lot smaller. I think it’s you, though. Same blond hair all messed up against the pillow,   ~~same long eyelashes~~   same eyebrows and nose… It must have been before the serum. You were a little guy, right? I read about that.

~~There’s always an intimacy to it~~

It’s currently 3 A.M. I’m writing because I don’t want to sleep.  ~~I just woke up from a nightmare. I wish I had dreamed about you~~

Sorry. This letter is a mess. I’ll probably throw it out in the morning. I’d write in pencil but I don’t like eraser shavings.

The paint is peeling off the walls in this place. Remember that they used to use lead paint? I read that that messes people up. All those health hazards we lived through, no wonder you were so weak and small.

In my last letter, I think I wrote about realizing something. I wasn’t sure of it and I felt dumb for putting it on paper. I’m more certain of it now.

I   ~~was~~    ~~am~~   was in love with you.

It was different back then, though. I know that. I couldn’t tell you outright. I could barely show you. They don’t show that kind of thing in museums.

I don’t remember if you reciprocated. There was — Peggy, right? I read about her. They do show that kind of thing in museums.

I don’t blame you for anything.

      - B

 

January 23, 2016

Steve,

Do you ever imagine yourself as someone else? Do you wonder how your life could be different if you were them instead of yourself?

I feel like that’s how I’m living. As someone else. I’m mashed pieces and parts of two very different men and I know I’m not supposed to  ~~live like this~~  be this way. I wish I could be Bucky, really and truly. I’m trying.

It feels fake, though. I don’t remember most of my life. I can’t connect to my past like other people can. I feel so intensely but I can hardly attach those feelings to anything solid. Like drowning in a tablespoon of water.

I haven’t talked more than a few words to anyone in months. That didn’t used to bother me.   ~~I miss you~~   People around here aren’t scared of me because they don’t know who I am. I don’t talk to them because I don’t want to unintentionally put them in danger.  ~~You weren’t~~

I hope you’re doing well. It’s been a long time since we last   ~~fought~~   saw each other. Almost two years.

I think it’s time to stop this habit. I don’t know that I’m even making sense anymore.

      - B

 

June 9, 2016

Steve,

I’m writing this in a Wakandan bedroom. I know you’re right next door but you might be asleep and I don’t want to disturb you. It’s been a hectic few days and you deserve the rest.

I’m going back into cryostasis tomorrow.

When they raided my last apartment, they found a couple things and Natasha managed to sneak them to me. There’s my journal — the one with the picture of you bookmarked. Then, tucked inside of that, there’s these letters I wrote to you. I want you to have them.

The past two years of my life have been somewhat of a jumbled mess, but some part of me feels like I owe this to you. I was in a weird place but thanks to you I’m heading towards something better.

So, thank you, and I’ll see you on the other side.

Love,

      Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/liquidsaints) & [tumblr](http://liquidsaints.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


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